8167/Greasing the Skids: A Motorcycle Ride Through Spanish Harlem

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Greasing the Skids: A Motorcycle Ride Through Spanish Harlem
Date of Scene: 04 July 2019
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Film Freak, Mercy Thompson




Film Freak has posed:
Hours spent in Arkham Asylum, shuffling backwards through his cyclic on the medication the doctors were giving him to treat the simple life of an actor, the condition the doctors assumed to be a mental illness. Criminal insanity, they said, commitment to characters that weren't him, shifting between an actor to a planner to a character and back again. How was it mad, to become someone else, when these men and women judging him weren't themselves?

Grinning jackals, behind their straight faces, keeping him in a cell to take away his God given talent.

If God was a doctor, then the whole world would be telepathic, and fools in the slums would run the world with dice games played by southern women with formless dresses and shapeless minds.

After he managed to cue back into Film Freak and escape, summoning the subconscious vigor to consult an image of Christ, imprinted on him by the bigoted assumptions of Gospel logic he requested from the doctor, he had shifted the image into his favorite Scorcese depiction of Jesus and consulted the internal imagery, finding out how to wrench a doctor's wrist about during his injection and press the doctor to his knees, before inserting the syringe into the side of his neck at the base.

The rest, was a mere smashing of the bazaar inside the Temple.

Burt Weston trundled through West Harlem on his Indian motorcycle, the smooth hard lines of chrome and lightning coughing up exhaust in a steady rhythm as he rode through the city away from his home in Gotham. Time to stay out of town for a while. Helmet on his head, the wind flapping his leather jacket's wide collar, he turned with an ambling curve and came into Mercy Thompson's garage.

He heard she was a questionable operator when it came to the suits with the ties, the postal inspectors. He hoped she could help a lost soul.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy wasn't at the garage when the bike turned up. She was, in fact, around the back taking out the trash that accumulated from running a one woman garage. Stepping back in, coveralls in place, Mercy just.....looks over at the bike.

"So....hi. What do you want me to do with this?" she asks and doesn't move an inch. She's a car woman, not a bike. Bikes are the domain of her assistant, who hasn't shown up yet. Looking over it, Mercy takes in the helmet, leather and bike. Shaking her head,she sighs and looks over. "See" Mercy sighs

Shaking her head, Mercy sighs again. "Alright, fine. I'll help you out. Just tell me what you need. What, does nobody drive cars?" she asks, her newest project up on the lift, missing most of its bodywork that Mercy's slowly fixing up.

Film Freak has posed:
Burt Weston kicks out the stand, and cuts the engine with a twist of the key, before climbing off with a long lift of his leg and a slow lower of the boot to the ground. With a slip of his hand into his leather pocket to stow his keyring, he reaches up and removes his helmet with a bow of his head, before placing it on the seat. He shakes his head, his long black hair matted down briefly before he runs his black-gloved hands through it, shaking it.

"I've seen the advantages to both a car, and a bike," he says softly, with a little look from his left from his soft blue eyes, a timid smile rising to his lips as a friendly gesture. "This is my old Indian, I need a little help with something that requires discretion."

He pulls his gloves off his hands, one by one, before tucking the gloves in the pocket opposite his keys.

Thumbs in his pockets, he strolls through the shop, looking up and around, smiling.

There's a snap of his gaze, his mind going from the eternal high of contemplation and Zen, before he shifts into the awareness of the genius social butterfly, becoming Edison.

"I was wondering if you could modify my bike here to hold a smuggling compartment for a holdout pistol? I deal with dangerous people, and an extra piece of insurance could be useful."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's silence before Mercy speaks. "You want me to put a compartment for a pistol?" Mercy asks. She gives him a quiet, contemplating look. "Why me? Why not go to one of the other garages?" Mercy asks, looking uneasy at the idea of putting a compartment in. She though does inspect the bike from where she's stood. Nice bike.

Looking over again, Mercy sighs. "You deal with dangerous types. You know that if word gets out I did this it'll bring more trouble to my door" Mercy says. It's not a 'no', but it's more a 'maybe and here is why this is a bad idea' type of voice Mercy's explaining things in. She's got her private policy not to break the law....as flexible as it may be. Still, Mercy's considering the compartment at least.

Shaking her head Mercy sighs. "Why not just keep a holdout in your jacket?" she asks. it's an obvious question. She's been around guns long enough to know what they are capable of, and how big they are, or small in this case.

Film Freak has posed:
"I hear you deal to clients in the underground," comes a statement from Edison, with a benevolent smile and a level, even look. "I was hoping you'd understand why someone would need to deal with something like this discretely."

"Don't worry, Miss Mercy, I won't be advertising you as my benefactor. Nobody will come by looking for the rig, I make it my business to keep my network small and quiet. The best type of mouse, is one hiding on a refrigerator, not under it." He winks an eye. "It's not the mouse that tries it, it's the mouse that achieves it."

Edison sidles around to Mercy's side. "I need something on the motorcycle as a maneuver, you know, a method of having a contingency plan in place if I need to put something into play. Maybe I planned for it, maybe I'm desperate."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy listens, at least she's willing to hear him out. "Who told you?" Mercy asks. She's certainly worked with some.....interesting types, but at the same time, Mercy's not an out and out criminal. She's just a trouble magnet Still she gets where he's coming from.

"There's easier ways to hide a gun and make it harder to spot. Do you think a cop is going to ask questions if you got a saddle bag, versus something welded onto the bike? Second one's more suspicious. I can attach something that'll pass for a bag holding clothing and not ask questions" she offfers. She's got a good point. "Plus....as she points out, a bag holds more ammunition than a litle compartment. Plus it means she's not got to weld anything. It'd ruin the look of the bike.

Mercy circles the bike a few times. "See. You put a compartment on, it'd ruin the look. You sling a saddle bag over, keep your gun under clothes....you don't get people asking questions, right?" Mercy asks. She's sounding like she's done this before. Growing up with wolves, and all that.

Film Freak has posed:
"I talked to the used car circuit in Gotham, got the tip to the guy from a shyster that defends chop shoppers in court," Edison explains with an extension of his hands apologetically, for using such a crass method of investigation.

"I'm not thinking of hiding it from a cop, that's not the reason," Edison says, a partial lie. Maybe hiding it from Batman. "I mean if I'm dealing with a shakedown from a thug, for example, or if I'm walking into a trap for a payoff."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy looks over as she sighs. "So....you want to use it to protect yourself right?" she asks then looks worried. "You went through the used car circuit" she adds and gives him a quiet, concerned look.

"So....you want a gun on your bike, then you're going to walk into trouble? You walking in with the bike or? I mean if you're on foot.....you want to have the gun with you, right?" Mercy points out looking somewhat skeptical. "Why not keep a holdout pistol on you at all times, plus one on the bike? Look if I start welding things to that bike it'll ruin how it looks. Actually...maybe not" Mercy says gently and glances to the saddle. "You could hollow it out under there and keep a gun under that, right?" she asks....though the look in her eyes says she's really not okay with ruining such a beautiful machine. "Or" she says gently. "Hollow out a part of the gas tank, smaller tank, hide a gun there?" Mercy offers with a smile.

Film Freak has posed:
"A stream is a stream as long as you can catch a fish," Edison retorts with a raised finger and a grin, flicking it with a dimple.

"I deal in low-level business for various crooked or otherwise questionable clients, I'm often in a position where I need to defend myself, if not with a simple symbol of assertion."

Edison moves around to look where she's looking, observing the saddle proposition. "The saddle is too high." He snaps his fingers, the Crow actor giving a thumbs up. "The secondary tank, that works perfectly. I'll keep my holdout for emergencies in the tank, I can get it if I'm on the ground or on the move behind my bike. That's perfect."

Edison opens a hand, showing his right palm upwards in a sign of aggressive submission. "Now, let's discuss payment. I know, this is asking a lot, I'm a professional scumbag, for all you know. So we have two options." He extends his forefinger. "Option one, I get some raw cash to you, but that's asking you to take a step down from the pedestal a woman of business holds herself upon."

The other finger comes up, thumb extending in the chauvinist victory sign. "Two, I can perform a service for you, any type, in exchange for your work, if you wish a good deed to come out of our liaison."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy shakes her head. "Cash would need me to jump down off my pedestal why?" she asks, she's not up on a pedestal much, given she spends all day under cars, or....around cars, or doing car-related things. She's listening, nodding at the idea of not working on the bike for fre since she needs to make ends meet. She's got plans for the weekend, call her old boss to manage the shop while Mercy's out of town. Shaking her head Mercy bites her tongue for a moment. "What 'service?'" she asks, doing that air quote thing with her fingers. "Were you thinking?"

There's no way Mercy's ever, ever going 'there' with those 'services' really, her eyes have a look to them that says something to the effect of keep your mind out the gutter. "It's normal to get paid for work done in business" Mercy points out, her sarcasm just under the surface. Maybe she's moody because...well....she's not found a place to run, Central Park is too public. Mercy's liable to just take off and go to the mountains to run. Still she's looking to her new customer. "Would you like me to show you where to weld to make an easier way to get the holdout pistol out?" Mercy asks. She looks over to the bike. "Tell you what. You owe me a favor. Or you can pay cash" Mercy points out. Cash is far less liable to get her in trouble with the law. But a favor could also be useful.

Film Freak has posed:
"I'm in a criminal business," Edison replies, his present mode of action as Edison, instead of Burt Weston, stripping away his introverted softness and replacing it with ambiverted buoyancy. "If you don't want dirty money, I completely understand."

"I'm an actor that works as specialist muscle. They call me Edison. I can run a package for you, take down a racket thug, recover an item, even do some scouting for you. I just go between Burt Weston, the guy that rode the motorcycle in, Edison, the guy you're talking to, then I go into character as a movie role I adapt with the Straussberg method, and become what the nuts in Arkham call the Film Freak."

He tilts his chin up. "And then, job's done, I'm out, back to Burt Weston, riding my motorcycle out of town."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Ah" Mercy nods with a grin. "Well then. you and I could get along since I'm a trouble magnet" she says with a nod, "So" she says clapping her hands.

"Do you want me to help with the tank?" she adds and watches. "An actor. Muscle" Mercy says. "You step into whatever you need. That....well" she smirles. "Is a handy skill to have isn't it?"

Film Freak has posed:
"Fantastic luck for both of us. Make your own and you'll be blessed."

Edison reaches into his jacket, where he's stowed his keys, and removes a slate white business card, with a number printed on it, and a roll of film beside it. He places it on a work bench, in clear view of both of them.

"The tank is what I want."

The Crow-blooded Englishman stretches his back in a reflexively narcissistic gesture, before putting his hands on his hips, thumbs locked into his belt. "It's a talent that I didn't know how to use until I realized the world was a stage, not an oyster. Shellfish is just for the afterglow."

Mercy Thompson has posed:

Mercy nods again at his words. "Alright, fine. World's a stage. So" she nods to the card and film. "What'd you want me to do with both. I'll keep the card, but the film?" she asks looking over the film, then card, then smiles. "Okay, let's see" she nods, "World's a stage, make your own luck. You sound like you're giving me a pep talk before I go on stage. Nah. I fix old German cars" Mercy nods enthusiastically.

Though she looks impressed,d, glancing back to the bike. "Well the sooner we get started the better" Mercy adds and stays where she is. If Edison wants his bike to have a pistol...it's a team effort between them.

Film Freak has posed:
"M is for Murder," Edison jokes with a playful pursed smirk.

"You should see it sometime. 1930s cinema from Germany, right before the entire country went mad because of a lunatic inspired by Charlie Chaplin's artistic betrayal of the American zootsuit community for the communist intelligentsia."

Edison snaps his neck, and goes into the role of Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, his inner world forcing itself blank and his eyes acquiring an enhanced three dimensional sensation. A descent into Hell for his mind, his face tighting into a British officer's sternly abrupt polite rigor, and his hands shifting to a side fold with loose wrists and classical Sandhurst thumbs folded near his forefingers, however curling out.

The Film Freak's rigid duty is in his voice as he inquires, "Very well, Mercy Thompson. Will you be requiring my insight as to the accomodations of the craft, or would you prefer I allowed you to work with some semblance of normalcy?" His voice has a distinctly British accent, in Peter Sellers' manner.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy watches and grabs a wrench and also begins hauling her welding gear to the bike. "Normalcy is best" Mercy says without looking up, instead she's got her mind set on work. On fixing up this bike and getting some form of payment. Still she looks amused by the idea of this guy doing her a favor. If anything he can help out around here if he wants....but Mercy's already measuring things out with string and by hand. Rulers...who needs them?

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak swiftly raises his hand, thumb tucked behind the forefinger and his palm shown, to his brow, in a British officer's salute. "Indeed, Miss Mercy Thompson. I will be taking a quick stroll to the tavern around the corner, to enjoy a trifle of alcohol and perhaps an anchovy's bounty. A beer, a fish, and some chips, it is."

He turns on his heel with a snap of his wrist, the two gestures simultaneous in a demonstration of improper form meant for a criminal (as a proper Englishman should designate), marching out of the shop.

Film Freak slides his hands into his pockets, his quick steps carrying him down the sidewalk and around the corner in quick order.